


Hold Your Head Up High

by Sword_Kallya



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Child Abuse, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Take me instead, Talia al Ghul's A+ Parenting, Torture, abuse recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-19 00:33:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29866440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sword_Kallya/pseuds/Sword_Kallya
Summary: Drake and Grayson are captured by Two-Face.Damian has had torture resistance training. He knows what to do.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne
Comments: 15
Kudos: 189





	Hold Your Head Up High

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken partially from "Stay Alive (Reprise)" by Lin-Manuel Miranda, but primarily from [this animatic](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AhuRuDs1wpo) by RogueInks on Youtube. The way they managed to change the meaning of half the lines with their art is spectacular. If you watch, I recommend having a box of tissues on hand.

Two-Face raised his hand to flip the coin. Dick winced. Between them, Tim was collapsed, breath wheezing thinly from the beating he'd already been dealt. Another might kill him. Dick was afraid one of his lungs had already been punctured. Please, God, let the coin fall on him. Tim couldn't take it.

"Really?" said a familiar voice. _No, no, no._ Damian was _supposed_ to be back in the Cave! "This is your play?"

"Robin," Two-Face growled. There were a dozen guns trained on the tiny figure as soon as Damian's feet hit the warehouse floor. Damian was good, but he wasn't that good. Dick shouted behind the gag, trying to get Damian to understand that he needed to _run._ The kid ignored him. Dick couldn't watch _two_ brothers be beaten to death. He tried not to sob. "Finally showed up, new boy?"

"If you want my father's attention, this is the wrong way to go about it."

The room went silent. Dick hardly dared _breathe._ From where he lay, Tim let out a pained, panicked keen.

"Father," Two-Face said. His tone was thoughtful, now. "That's a first. I'd thought you bat-brats were all random ones he stole off the street, like Cluemaster's little terror."

Dick stiffened — they should have thought that the Rogues' Gallery might know Steph, they should have prepared for that — but Damian snorted and flicked a hand, as if that revelation didn't matter. "My _predecessors,"_ he said derisively, "are no longer a concern. Father supports them somewhat, of course, but to expect him to dash out in a _rescue —_ they've had enough training, and they've served their purpose. He'll let them get out on their own. Or not."

Dick stared. What the hell was Damian trying to _do?_ He'd seen Bruce panic when someone went silent, he _knew_ what he was saying was a lie. What was the point?

"Their _purpose._ What's their purpose?" Two-Face was at least engaged in Damian's lies by now.

"To protect me, of course. Father wasn't about to bring me out on the streets when I was barely knee-height. If he made a stray comment about a child, everyone would assume he was referring to the current Robin." Damian shrugged, a dismissive movement that had to be copied straight from Ra's al Ghul. "But now that I am capable of taking up the mantle, we have no need for pretenders. _I_ am the blood son. Robin is mine, and someday Batman will be mine as well. Nightwing's work in Bludhaven is sometimes useful, but he and Red Robin primarily get into incidents that Father and I then have to get them _out_ of. Like this one."

"Huh." Two-Face was relaxing now. In response to their boss's mood, most of the goons had pointed their guns at the floor instead of the kid. "Not very _heroic,_ are you, kid? Bats know about this?"

"Saving civilians is heroic. Saving idiot vigilantes who should _know better_ is the equivalent of being forced to do someone else's chores."

"Then why're you here?" Two-Face pulled his twin-barrel revolver and pointed it at Red Robin's skull. "Why not let me put the pair of them out of your misery?"

"Because if a vigilante gets killed, then Father will make me do _remedial escape training."_ Damian's tone implied that that was a fate worse than death. "Even you aren't cruel enough to force me to go through _that."_

One of the goons muttered, "He's rescuing them because he doesn't want his dad to give him homework?" and then the whole room was laughing. Dick was trying to spontaneously develop the meta gene. Telepathy would be nice right about now, to ask Damian _what the hell he thought he was doing._

Two-Face wiped a tear from Harvey Dent's eye. "You've got some brass, kid, I'll give you that. So, what's your plan?"

"My _plan_ is to point out that while these two are obviously idiots who would deserve whatever you did to drive their failure home, torturing them will not bring Father here any faster than he was already coming when he heard that you broke out. What it _will_ do is get the rest of the vigilante world involved, which will make your life _much_ harder until Father and I can kick them back out of Gotham. Red Robin in particular, while not much of a threat on his own, is allied with the older Superboy, and Kryptonians latch onto places like mold. Killing them will cause you more problems than it solves."

That got a growl. "So you want me to just _let them go?"_ Two-Face fingered his revolver. Dick flinched.

"No, I propose a trade. My capture will bring Father much faster. Allow Nightwing to take the news to him — and bring him Red Robin, I suppose, in the interest of not having Kryptonians bashing down _both_ our doors." Dick started to struggle. No, no, no! He was not _leaving_ Damian with Two-Face! "You retain your leverage, I keep outsiders out of the city that _will_ be mine, one day, and these idiots don't die and therefore give me more work to do. We all win."

"You've got some balls on you, coming in and telling _me_ how to run my own job," Two-Face snarled. "But let's see what the coin says."

Dick didn't know which way he wanted the coin to land. If it fell heads, he could get out, get Tim out, bring backup — but he'd be leaving Damian to Two-Face's nonexistent mercy. If it fell tails—

At least Damian wouldn't be alone.

A clinking noise, and the coin spun, flashing in the flickering fluorescent lights. Two-Face caught it. Slapped it on his wrist. Dick held his breath.

"Looks like you get your wish, boy wonder," Two-Face growled. "Disarm him."

"No need," Damian said calmly. He unstrapped his swords and laid them out in front of him, then started at the security code to his belt. "I will keep my word, so long as you keep yours."

Two-Face nodded—

And pulled his revolver and shot Damian in the arm. A child's scream echoed off the cinderblock walls.

"Don't think you're in control here. The coin decided. This is still my turf."

Dick couldn't see Damian's face from where he knelt, but he knew there would be no emotion on it at all. Damian had been trained, long and hard, to handle pain. He wouldn't be downed by one gunshot. Even so, his words were slow and controlled, betraying the effort of not screaming again. "I… understand."

"Good." Two-Face jerked his chin at one of his lackeys. "Cut Nightwing loose. Any funny business, and-" he slammed the barrel of the revolver against Damian's temple. Damian hissed as the metal, still hot from the earlier shot, burned his skin. "You'll have one _hell_ of a lot of explaining to do to Bats. You hear me?"

The thug pulled the gag off. Dick swallowed to get some moisture in his mouth. "I hear you." He moved towards Tim, not bothering to check him over. That could wait until they were safe. Safer. He grabbed Damian's utility belt off the floor—

"Leave the swords," Two-Face ordered. "They'll make a nice trophy." That earned several snickers.

Dick gritted his teeth. He didn't look at Damian. He wouldn't be able to make himself leave if he did.

Even so, it was only Tim's raspy breathing that managed to carry him out of the warehouse.

* * *

Damian had known exactly what he was in for, when he stepped in front of Grayson and Drake. Both his parents had trained him for it, and while their methods were often different, the lessons were the same.

_Hold your head up high. Don't react if you can help it. Keep your breathing even. Don't show fear._

Damian had his limits. Everyone did. But of all his siblings, save perhaps Todd, he was the best at managing pain. Father had informed them that when torture was inevitable — as it was, in their line of work — the one best able to manage should try to take it for the others. And by the sound of Drake's breathing, he wouldn't be able to manage much more.

Damian's breathing didn't stutter as the tire iron came down on his back again. Jeers rang through the warehouse, but it was better than the — he fought back a shudder — _comments_ that had occurred when Damian had acquiesced to Dent's order to strip off his uniform tunic. Damian contented himself with thoughts of breaking the fingers of every idiot who had thought of him that way. At least Dent wasn't allowing that. The man was likely aware that, while Batman didn't kill, seeing evidence of _that_ on his son was likely to send the man into a blinding rage. Dent had been on the receiving end of Batman's fists before. He knew how likely he would be to survive such a thing.

But the fact that Damian was safe from inappropriate touch — for now — didn't mean he was _safe._

Another thug stepped up, ready to start on tonight's entertainment. Damian couldn't suppress his flinch.

_Hold your head up high. Don't show fear. Keep your breathing even._

Two-Face's men weren't nearly as creative as Grandfather's torturers. Damian's torture resistance training had involved sessions with them that might last days or even weeks. The simple beating didn't change, even when he wheezed out keens as it broke bones. He had at least two cracked ribs, one of which might be broken, and the first punch from Two-Face himself had fractured his clavicle.

When Father arrived, Damian would be able to give full account of his injuries.

The next man was large but preferred using his fists to a bat or hammer. The larger surface area and smaller swing range meant that this was as much of a break as Damian was likely to get. But they weren't restricting his breathing, and Father would arrive before starvation or dehydration could set in. There were limits to what could be done by a crowd of unskilled morons who needed him alive.

Damian counted breaths. In, two, three, four. Hold, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. The pattern was familiar, soothing. His breath barely hitched as a fist crashed down on one of the cracked ribs, snapping it.

"Get out of there," Two-Face growled from his seat in front of Damian. "I don't want him dead; I want to hear him _scream."_

The next person to step forward was a woman. The glow in her eyes was nothing but a lust for pain. She lifted a taser.

It was impossible to keep his breathing even as his lungs seized.

_Hold your head up high. Don't show fear._

Sometime between the taser shocks and the argument over a car battery — it had been vetoed as too likely to cut their fun off too soon — someone had soaked Damian with a bucket of water. He shivered, freezing in the cold air of Gotham in autumn. He wished for his cape back. The yellow lining came loose under fingers that knew just where to pull, providing a shock blanket should Damian need one. Once, during a patrol early on in Grayson's tenure as Batman, Damian had gotten lost in a January snowstorm. The cape had kept him alive until Gordon and Grayson managed to find him.

What was taking Grayson so long? Surely he would have made it to Father by now and reported Damian's loc—

Damian lost the train of thought to white fire as the woman with the taser struck again. The sound of his scream reverberated off the walls. Laughter chased it, cruel and vicious. Damian was suddenly, perversely glad for the water chilling his skin. It should be impossible for these monsters to tell the difference between the water and his tears.

"Enough." Two-Face stood — he _liked_ the screaming, Damian had been screaming, what was this, was it not enough anymore? — and crossed the room to grab Damian's chin. "It's been long enough since Nightwing left that I'm starting to think you _cheated me._ And if you're not really as valuable as you say, then there's no reason to keep you in one piece."

Damian couldn't suppress the full-body shudder. Father wasn't there, and Two-Face had figured out that he lied.

Damian was going to die.

_Hold your head up high._

* * *

Handling punishments was much the same process as handling torture, Damian had found. The same four rules applied, though which ones were easier to keep were different. Keeping his breathing even was relatively easy, but not showing fear, holding his head up — those were far more difficult. Especially when it was _Grayson,_ not Father, shouting at him.

"You could have gotten yourself _killed,_ Damian!"

Damian did not suck in a breath at the harsh words, coming from someone who was usually so kind and understanding. He did not shout back at Grayson, _I was trying to save your life._ He did not show fear, or lower his gaze, or react in any way.

Damian loved Grayson, but he would rather be back in Two-Face's warehouse than here, with his brother shouting at him.

"I just—" Grayson ran a hand through his hair, streaking blood from a scrape on his palm over his forehead. "Do you understand why you can't do that again? Because you _can't._ I've half a mind to tell B to bench you."

To anyone else, Damian's flinch would have been invisible. However, Grayson had been his Batman for months. He knew Damian better than anyone else.

_Don't react. Don't show fear._

Instead of backing off, as Grayson so often did when he knew he'd struck a verbal blow, he _continued the lecture._ "Yeah, it really is that serious. You didn't tell anyone where you were going, except for me, and I was hauling Tim's injured carcass back here—"

"Thanks, Dick," Drake interjected from the infirmary.

"—No problem, Timmy — And there was a solid chance that Two-Face would have _killed you._ I thought we were going to be looking for your _corpse."_

"I am aware."

"Then _why?"_ There was — that wasn't the tone Grayson used when he was angry. That was his _hurt_ voice. The voice he used when they discussed Damian's training — the worst parts.

_Hold your head up high,_ rang through Damian's mind in Father's voice. Over the past few months, it had become louder than Mother's _Don't slouch, you're making yourself a target._ "Father's instructions were that the one most able to withstand torture is to draw as much of it as possible."

"That's for people who are _already captured,_ Damian!" Grayson shouted. Damian flinched, hard, but Grayson didn't stop. Damian's spine felt like a bar of steel. _Hold your head up high._ Even as he waited for Grayson to slap him. "Your job was to _go get Bruce and Jason."_

Damian's heart sank. He hadn't realized he'd misinterpreted Father's instructions that badly. "I apologize," he said stiffly. The words sounded strange in English; his tongue wanted to shape them in Farsi instead. He continued with the phrases that had been ground into him since he could speak. "I will accept whatever—" _don't say punishment, Grayson will think you're trying to guilt him into lenience, and he will be even angrier_ "—recompense you find necessary."

Grayson's eyes narrowed. Damian was unused to seeing that expression on the usually cheerful face without a domino's white lenses to diffuse it. Damian finally couldn't hold his brother's — his _Batman's —_ gaze anymore, instead dropping to stare at Grayson's boots. "Why don't you start by telling me _exactly_ what you thought you were doing?" His tone made it clear that it wasn't a request.

Damian did not allow his chin to drop, no matter how much he wanted to cringe away. "I overheard several of Two-Face's minions discussing their capture of Nightwing and Red Robin. Once I had discerned their base of operations, I scouted far enough to determine that there were too many for me to take on without aid, and that Red Robin was unlikely to survive if I were to wait long enough for Batman or Red Hood's aid. In order to free yourself and Red Robin, I convinced Two-Face that Father would consider—" _Hold your head up high. Keep your breathing even. You can do this. You_ must _do this._ "—my capture more important than your own. I am aware—" Damian allowed himself one pained breath, just the one, before he kept going. "—I am aware that this is untrue, but it seemed the easiest way to draw attention away from Red Robin. As per Father's instructions, given that I have had extensive torture resistance training and was uninjured. Releasing you to bring Father and Hood was merely an added bonus."

_Please let that be enough,_ Damian prayed. Let Grayson shout at him but be satisfied with that. He could take the shouting, the temporary removal of the Robin mantle, extra training, a beating, even. Just let it be _over_ after that.

Grayson's _hmm_ didn't sound like it was over yet, though. "None of that explains why you thought that _getting yourself captured in our place_ was a good idea."

More talking, talking and talking and talking. Why couldn't Grayson just beat him and get it over with? "I understand that I was reckless, but given the present hierarchy I thought—"

"Hold on," Grayson snapped. "Hierarchy? What hierarchy?"

"The… hierarchy of position," Damian said slowly. This wasn't what he had expected Grayson to shout at him about. "Father is in charge, of course, and then Pennyworth, and you and Father have made it clear that positions beyond that are assigned via your choice, and not any power plays between contenders or by — by birth," Damian couldn't help but stutter. He _knew_ that his father had chosen his earlier apprentices personally, that declaring his blood only barely got him a position within the family, nothing more. It shouldn't hurt anymore, that he was the unwanted son. "I — it is not a move I would have made while you were Batman, but it is the place of the lowest ranks to take blows for those above them and I thought—"

Strong, warm arms wrapped around him, and Damian went silent and still, waiting for them to squeeze his broken ribs. He had made a mistake, he deserved it, he had thought Grayson preferred verbal punishments, but he clearly had been mistaken—

Warm liquid was soaking the collar of Damian's uniform tunic. The chest pressed against his was shaking.

"I'm so, so sorry, Damian," Grayson whispered. "I never meant for you to feel like that. I'm _so_ sorry."

"I — I don't understand." This was a _punishment._ But Grayson was _hugging him._ Damian was confused.

"It's not your job to take hits for us, Damian," Drake called from the medical bay. "We all protect each other equally. Dick, drag him over here because _I_ need to hug him after that."

Damian squawked as Grayson scooped him up. "I should have taught you that. Batman and Robin are partners, they're _equals._ And so are the rest of the Bats. No one's job is to get hit more than anyone else."

Damian fisted his hands in Grayson's loose sweatshirt. "I'm not. There is. There is always a hierarchy, someone always gives the orders and others listen—"

"Not here, Damian. I know you grew up that way, but that's not how we do things." Grayson gently set Damian down in Drake's arms. Drake pulled him close, and Grayson disappeared. Damian made a small bereft sound, though he knew intellectually Drake would keep him just as safe as Grayson.

"Just getting another cot so we can all cuddle up together," Grayson called from somewhere close by. "Because clearly we need to show you what family is _supposed_ to be."

Damian's eyes stung, which made no sense. Nothing made sense. He was supposed to be being _punished,_ not — not whatever this was. "I don't _understand."_

"I do." Drake held him close. "We're not going to throw you at enemies just because you're the newest, Damian. This… this makes the thing with the dinosaur make _so much_ more sense."

Mouth covered by Drake's shock blanket, Damian made a questioning noise.

"You weren't attacking me, not really. You were protecting yourself." Drake ruffled his hair. "That's a whole different deal, gremlin."

Grayson finally got the second cot pressed up against the first one. "We should have realized you didn't feel safe. Timmy, pass me the baby?"

Damian was handed to Grayson. He shouldn't cry. Crying was _also_ worthy of punishment; he should do nothing to jeopardize this sudden reward—

Grayson carded callused fingers through Damian's hair. "Oh, baby. It's okay."

Damian ducked his head, and the tears fell.


End file.
